


One Does Not Simply Walk Into Mordor

by tielan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-20 15:50:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14264424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: Orcs might be preferable. But one does not question Natasha Romanoff when she has taken it into her head to go on a road trip.





	One Does Not Simply Walk Into Mordor

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be the start of a tale of friendship, music choices, and ~~manslaughter~~ mayhem, but first it stalled for other ideas, then the MCU kept showing, and eventually, it fell by the wayside. I think it still works as a complete piece, even if it's not quite as detailed and long as I initially planned.

When the Black Widow decides she wants to go on a road trip, there is one correct answer.

Maria Hill doesn’t ask what has Romanoff in such a mood. She doesn’t ask why Barton isn’t playing piggy. She doesn’t _quite_ curse Phil Coulson for dying and leaving her to deal with this kind of thing. 

She _does_ call Pepper Potts. 

\--

“You want _me_ to come with _you_ and _Natasha Romanoff_ on a _road trip_?”

Maria winces. When put like that… “Yes.”

The silence on the other end of the line makes her glad that she made this call voice-only. Stark Industries has both the bandwidth and capability to face-to-face but the last thing that Maria Hill wants is for Pepper Potts to see her deep and abiding reservations about the intelligence of this course of action.

However, she needs someone to take some of Romanoff’s focus off her, and while Rogers seems to have developed a good rapport with her, Maria is _not_ taking Steve Rogers on a road trip through modern America. 

There are limits.

“How long?”

“I’m sorry?”

“How long would this road trip be?”

Dear God, Potts is actually considering it. Maria stares at her tablet screen for a moment. “I’d guess at least a week. Maybe two.”

The silence on the other end of the phone is contemplative. She doesn’t interrupt it. A woman like Potts doesn’t jump into action only to look back and regret later. She considers. She measures. She makes reasoned choices.

“Okay. When do we start out?”

And sometimes she says ‘to hell with it’ and leaps into the fray.

“As soon as possible.”

Which basically means ‘before anyone of the guys finds out’.

–

One does not simply walk into Mordor.

When one is taking the CEO of Stark Industries and the world’s most notorious female assassin on a road trip, one takes the car. Or, more correctly, a truck. Maria’s preference is the Ford F250 with the dual cab large enough to take whatever luggage a woman of Potts’ wardrobe and position requires.

The two slim bags presented for loading – one wheeled luggage with its matching carry-on bag – stymie Maria somewhat. She’s used to travelling light, and Romanoff is used to travelling light, but she expected a little more volume from Potts.

“I’m used to picking up and going at a moment’s notice,” Potts says, a gleam in her eye as she regards the big, empty tray of the truck. “I don’t need much, especially if I don’t have board meetings or functions to attend along the way. I think we can take something a little smaller.”

Natasha wants to take the SUV. Maria hates SUVs. Natasha tells her she doesn’t have to drive. Maria isn’t about to let an angry Black Widow drive out of New York.

In addition to which, if she has to listen to Natasha singing Natasha’s music choices, there _will_ be murder committed before they get out of the city. Romanoff may be a seductress, a spy, an assassin, and an Avenger but she cannot hold a tune to save her life. 

Maria takes the wheel for the first leg, and turns up her music.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as an opera fan,” Pepper says as the strains of _Voi Che Sapete_ soar through the speakers, and Natasha tucks herself up in the backseat.

“What, then?”

“Rock and roll, I guess,” Pepper shrugs, flipping through Maria’s iPod, careful not to erase or change the music. “Maybe it’s a bit before your time,” she concedes.

Maria smiles, not entirely humourlessly, as she navigates around a Honda that’s not even close to the speed limit. “I’m not that young. Check under ‘Alternative’.”

“You know,” Pepper says after a moment, “Tony might even approve of this playlist.”

“Which is why he’s not invited,” Maria retorts as they pull up at a set of lights and she automatically locks the doors.

–

The plan is to get up to Chicago, then take it easy down Route 66. There are assorted reasons why Maria believes this to be a bad idea, but going back to Chicago is one of them.

Going back to Chicago with a woman who’s hacked her personnel file and a woman whose boyfriend has an AI and tends to make it his business to know everything about everyone is certainly a bad idea.

“We are not doing touristing in Chicago,” Maria insists. “Or business,” she adds, because Pepper’s fingers have been itching towards her laptop all morning.

A small but essential problem comes up when they first stop for gas.

Natasha refuses to use her card. “Clint can track it,” she points out.

Maria and Pepper exchange looks. Natasha has refused to talk about Clint Barton, where they vanished to after the Chitauri Invasion, nor the results of Barton’s psych examination. Not that Maria would encourage the discussion of SHIELD agency matters in front of a civilian with conflicting interests, but she’s reasonably sure she can trust Pepper’s discretion, and if Natasha wants to talk about it, then it’s more important to get it out than for her to build it up.

As Natasha fills the tank, Maria hits the frequency interference module that she always carries with her. It doesn’t do much – it just blurs the visuals of her on the cameras, making her a little harder to facially match on SHIELD’s recognition software.

She can’t do much about Pepper Potts, although the CEO of Stark Industries is a little harder to spot when she’s in track pants and a hoodie. At least Natasha has the instincts to stay out of any of the myriad cameras around the place – or to keep her face averted or her cap bill down.

The gas is paid for, everyone gets a drink. Natasha buys out half the sugar supplies in the store. At which point Maria decides that she is going to grill Barton like a steak when this trip is done, because the only thing worse than the Black Widow on a sugar high is the Black Widow on benzodiazepines.

Maria’s seen both.

What Maria hasn’t seen is the Black Widow in a Mood, on a sugar high, and with the keys to the SUV.

By the time she realises she doesn’t have the keys in her pocket, Natasha’s already climbing into the driver’s seat and changing the music.

Maria exhales, grits her teeth and climbs into the car.

Someone somewhere someday is going to die in the most painful manner that Maria can devise for introducing Natasha to the music of Avril Lavigne.


End file.
